The Perfect Hostage (A Super Agent Novella) (Entangled Edge)

by Misty Evans

  The man smiled at her. “Kind of you to invite me, Lucie. It’s good to see you and Zara and your family under such enjoyable circumstances. The party is a nice getaway for me, and I’m glad I could make it.”

  At that moment, Zara’s own hero entered the room. Lawson and John embraced, slapping each other on the back. “About time you arrived, Johnnie boy. I was starting to think you’d chickened out.”

  John smiled but it resembled more of a sneer. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world, man.”

  Liar. He and Lawson exchanged some kind of nonverbal message and Lucie bit the inside of her bottom lip.

  John didn’t want to be here.

  I should have known he wouldn’t want to come.

  But she’d needed him. Needed to talk to him. He was so committed to Pegasus, their relationship had never had a chance to develop. John had told her he didn’t like commitments, that they were doomed before they started because of his job, and yet, it was the only thing she thought about these days. A relationship. With a man who didn’t care who she was or what her last name was. A relationship with John.

  And that’s why she’d invited him.

  That and the sex dreams.

  Getting him to the cabin wasn’t just about Zara and Lawson’s baby. Or having John meet her family. If things went her way, Lucie was going to kidnap him for the weekend. She had everything planned, right down to making Lawson swear on a bible that John wouldn’t get called for a mission. Although John had insisted he didn’t want a relationship, Lawson had told her he was just scared.

  Well, she was scared, too. Relationships were difficult and painful and sometimes even self-destructive. But they could be healthy and fun as well. Good things, including friendships and closer ties to family, could come out of tragic events and unfortunate past circumstances. She had to persuade John that not only could he have a loving, long-term relationship, but that he deserved one.

  Reaching for the beer gift, she let her fingers linger over his as they touched. “We should put that in the fridge, yes?”

  He let her take the six-pack and shrugged off his coat. Grabbing Lucie by the hand, he leaned in and gave her fingers a slight squeeze. “Oui,” he answered in her native tongue, all traces of his Texas accent disappearing. His gaze rambled over her dress, down to her shoes. “Let’s put them on some ice.”

  Her pulse jumped. Ice. Good idea. The things he could do to her with an ice cube…

  Ice cube…kitchen…kitchen table.

  Oh, yeah, the kitchen table was definitely on her list of fantasies to act out this weekend. As was the hot tub, and the shower, and…

  John tilted his head slightly, as if he were reading her carnal thoughts.

  Keeping a straight face, she tugged him toward the kitchen at the back of the cabin. “Come with me. You can help me with the cake.”

  Cake. Frosting. John lying on the kitchen table with frosting all over his body…

  Blushing, Lucie put her head down as she walked past her father and smiled.

  God. Why was she so nervous? Zara and Lawson had primed her for this moment with John, but now that she’d led him into the expansive chef’s kitchen, where they could be alone, she felt like an actor with stage fright.

  Removing a bottle of beer from the carton, she toyed with it before placing it in the refrigerator. “You never told me you speak French.”

  John leaned on the center island, his gaze taking in the Viking appliances, marble countertops, and catered food covering every surface. “I can’t. I’m only fluent in terrorist and hostage negotiations.”

  She’d witnessed that firsthand. She still had nightmares where John and Lawson didn’t show up at Dmitri’s compound in time, and she and Zara died. “You didn’t like it when I introduced you to the family.”

  He met her eyes, crossed his arms over his chest. “It wasn’t that. My job is classified. I don’t tell people what I do for a living.”

  Way to go, Luce.

  “J’ai fait une gaffe.” She looked away and slid another bottle onto the shelf. “I made a mistake.”

  Reaching for a shrimp cup, he shrugged. “Your family already knows about Zara’s and Law’s jobs. They had to in the aftermath of the kidnapping. Guess it’s not a big deal.”

  But it was. She could tell. Outside the large window above the kitchen sink, she caught sight of a red truck. “Did you drive all the way from D.C.?”

  Another shrug. “I have some time off. Driving clears my head.”

  Lawson had told her John was on a forced vacation after getting in that morning from his latest mission. She didn’t understand why anyone would have to be forced to take time off work, but apparently, his last two missions had gone badly and John was unhappy. Stressed out. Making poor decisions, Lawson had said. He needed time away from the job.

  A perfect reason to kidnap him and keep him at the cabin all weekend. She had several stress-reducers in mind.

  Had he thought about her at all when he was away?

  “I am staying here for the weekend.” She placed the last bottles of beer into the fridge and shut the door before leaning against it. “You could stay with me. Clear your head here.”

  The casual air he’d been projecting disappeared even though nothing about his body changed. He studied her, those blue eyes intense. Penetrating. “Crowded in with the rest of the family?”

  “They’re leaving.” Soon, too, by the way they’d been acting. Fine with her. Now that John was here, she would happily ship them all out. “It would be only you and me.”

  The penetrating stare turned warm. Not warm, hot.

  Look out, kitchen table.

  She was sure he was going to say yes. Then he crossed his arms again. “I’m on call for Pegasus. I should get back to D.C.”

  Lawson had warned her John would do this. Resist. Thing was, Lucie knew what she wanted. So many things became clear after seeing the inside of a terrorist compound. After being drugged and used as bait. After nearly losing your one and only sister, and nearly dying alongside her.

  You never knew when some terrorist was going to come along and screw up your life. All the plans she’d had for the future had taken on new meaning. Living for today became more important.

  As the French would say, she needed to bite life with full teeth.

  Which was why she was trying so hard with her American family. Her mother back in Paris had recently given Lucie her blessing to reach out to Charles and move to Arlington to be near Zara. After her ordeal with Dmitri, Lucie longed to be part of this family more than anything in the world. To belong with them. Share her secrets with them. Forge new relationships.

  So far, she had the last name and a trust fund. She was still working on the belonging part.

  The only other thing she wanted was John. “It’s my birthday.” And he would be her present. If she pulled this off. “On Monday.”

  His brows went up and he looked chagrined. “Why didn’t you tell me? I would have gotten you something.”

  Time to take that bite out of life.

  Pushing away from the fridge, she gave him a return look she hoped conveyed what she was planning as she walked over and stood in front of him. Uncrossing his arms, she gripped them tightly and wrapped them around her waist, pressing her breasts and hips against him. “All I want is you. For the weekend.”

  His body, so tense it practically vibrated, shifted to accommodate her. The hot look returned to his eyes. He rested his hands on her hips and searched her face. For what, she wasn’t sure.

  Glancing at her lips, he lowered his voice. “Lucie, I—”

  “Please.” She touched his chin, ran her fingers over the stubble there. “Stay with me tonight. One night. That is all I ask. You don’t have to make promises.”

  There was sex in those blue eyes when they met hers again. He wanted her as badly as she wanted him. The chemistry between them had been there since their first meeting, when she’d looked like hell and he’d looked like the action hero h
e was, saving her from guns and bullets and a madman with a biological weapon. The one thing he couldn’t save her from was her heart.

  John was a workaholic. Everyone in America was. Even her father, who was rich enough to retire ten times over. He never stopped talking business, and John never stopped leaving on missions.

  Was he actually saving people and taking out terrorists, or was he running from her?

  She almost said “please” again, but held her tongue. When she and Zara had discussed her “kidnapping” plan, it had seemed so easy. Lucie had felt energized, alive, and Zara had told her to be direct and assertive. That’s what guys like Lawson and John needed, she’d said. A woman who could hold her own and tell them what she wanted.

  In twenty-nine years and three hundred and sixty-three days, Lucie had never had trouble telling a man what she wanted. But John was different.

  “I want…” She took a deep breath, forced her gaze to stay on his. “I want you.”

  There. Simple. Direct. Assertive.

  Something flashed in his eyes. Surprise?

  More like regret.

  Was he going to tell her no? Reject her?

  Rejection. A familiar shadow these days. Her heart broke into a thousand tiny grains of sand. She started to step back.

  John grabbed her by the arms. “Where you goin’, darlin’?”

  Darlin’. The drawl sent shivers up and down her spine. “The cake. I need to cut the cake and plate it.”

  “The cake can wait.” He lowered his lips to hers. “I can’t.”

  The kiss was as hot as the man. He crushed her lips, drew back, and licked her bottom one. Crushed them again. His tongue pushed its way in—as if she would resist him—and bam. His hands were all over her. Grabbing her ass, running up and down her spine, cupping her breasts.

  Lucie’s hands weren’t exactly still. Fire ignited under her skin, and she tore off his hat, raking her hands through his long hair. Tugging on it. Clutching at his shoulders to bring him closer.

  In the other room, the music continued to play. Zara laughed.

  John spun them both around, grabbed her by the ass cheeks, and lifted her onto the island’s countertop. A tray of mini quiches went flying.

  “What the…” he said, drawing his hand away and examining his finger.

  Lucie’s pulse beat a staccato in her ears. “What is it?”

  “Nothing. Just a scratch, but something back here…” He peered over her shoulder, held up the silver cake server. “Are you cutting cake with this or severing a limb?”

  Don’t get distracted. Lucie took the cake server with its serrated edge and tossed it over to the kitchen sink. Be direct. Assertive.

  Let me kiss it and make it better. She’d heard American women say that to their kids. The skin wasn’t broken, so cheeks heating, she met his eyes with a half-lidded look, drew his finger to her mouth, and wrapped her lips around it. Slow and seductive, she slid her tongue over the tip and down. Back up.

  A French kiss to make it better.

  He shuddered under her hands.

  Tightening her lips, she sucked.

  Hard.

  His body jerked. Pushing between her legs, he shoved up her dress with his free hand and spread her legs wide. She released his finger and clung to him. He was hard and she was soft, and she opened for him, cradling him and wanting more. He moaned softly into her mouth as he kissed her again, and she wrapped her legs around him.

  The real thing, even with her clothes on and her family in the next room, was even hotter than in her dreams.

  Embracing his strong shoulders, she hung on as the room spun. Tongue to tongue, her breasts smashed against his rock-hard chest, his erection pressed into the spot between her legs.

  The only barrier between them was the clothing. Flimsy stuff, that. Lucie gripped the lapels of John’s flannel shirt and gave them a yank.

  Buttons flew. His chest emerged. All that luscious skin, a tattoo over his left pec. Those rippling muscles.

  In the background, someone cleared his throat. Loudly. “What in God’s name is going on in here?”

  Chapter Three

  John jerked back, breaking the kiss and sucking in a breath. He spun around, saw Charles’s attention drop to his very out-there erection—thank God he still had on his pants—and spun back.

  “Um…” Words evaded him. His brain was trapped in his zipper. When was the last time he’d been caught making out with a hot girl by her dad? Hell, when was the last time he’d lost control like that? “We were just, um, getting ready to cut the cake.”

  Somehow that came out wrong, at least to John’s ears. Agitated, he looked at Lucie just in time to see a sly grin cross her lips. Lips that were swollen from his kisses. She tried to re-button his shirt. There were only two buttons left.

  “I see.” Out of the corner of his eye, John saw Charles looking at the floor and the scattering of food. “What was that crash?”

  He knew damn well what the crash was. Bastard wanted to put them further on the hooks. See if he could draw blood from Lucie.

  Sharks always did. They thought they were better than everyone else, even their own flesh and blood.

  Anger simmered in John’s gut. He’d been swimming with sharks his whole life. One thing he knew: sharks could bleed, too.

  But this was Lucie’s dad. He had to play it cool. “An accident, sir. I slipped and dropped a tray.”

  “Lucie?” Charles asked.

  Lucie popped her head up over John’s shoulder, the grin smothered. “Oui?”

  “Are you all right?”

  “Fine, Father.”

  “Then get down from there and clean up this mess.”

  Her body deflated. She looked down, eyelashes dark against her pale skin, and nodded. “I’ll get a broom.”

  John backed away and helped her off the island, hating it when she pulled down the knit dress to cover her gorgeous legs. Hating the way all the life went out of her at her dad’s orders.

  Get a broom? What was she, the Morgans’ personal maid? John covertly straightened his pants. “I’ll get the broom. Tell me where it is.”

  She laid a hand on his arm. “I’ll take care of it.”

  She disappeared through a side door. John, erection now gone, faced Charles. The sharks are circling… “Nice party. Lucie’s amazing, isn’t she? Doing all this for Z and Lawson? You must be very proud of her.”

  Charles narrowed his eyes. “Have you been drinking, son?”

  Son. The word stuck in his craw. Nobody had the right to call him that. Never had.

  It would have been easy to put the shark in his place. Make him regret he’d ever said it. Easy, but not smart. “No, sir.”

  The two of them glared at each other across the kitchen tiles. Charles’s attention traveled from John’s mussed hair down to his boots. His face said he found John lacking in every area. “Perhaps it’s time you left, Mr. Quick.”

  How ironic. He hadn’t wanted to be here, and now no one was going to force him to leave. John leaned against the island and crossed his feet at the ankles, making himself comfortable. “Think I’ll stick around. I have a thing for cake.” And your daughter. Whom you don’t appreciate, but I do.

  Charles stood his ground. “I know why you’re here. What you’re up to.”

  Seemed obvious after the island ordeal. “And?”

  “You’ll never get your hands on my money.”

  Wait. What? John scoffed. “I assure you I have no interest in your money.”

  Another scathing inventory of his hair, clothes, and boots. “Every man who has dated a female member of my family has been after the Morgan money. Lucie’s trust fund could set you up for life.”

  The anger threatened to break free. “I don’t know anything about a goddamn trust fund, and believe me, neither Lawson nor I care about your money. Maybe you should stop judging everyone by your standards, since money seems to be more important to you than your own family.”

  Charles�
��s jaw worked, an angry flush coloring his cheeks. “Careful, son. You don’t know me or my family, but I know all about men like you. Playing on a young woman’s vulnerability. Convincing her you love her.”

  I do love—

  Whoa. The shark needed a reality check and so did he. “Lucie and I are…friends.” They were more than that, obviously, but what exactly were they? “Good friends fixin’ to spend the weekend together.”

  One of Charles’s brows rose. Because of the redneck accent or the fact John was planning on spending the weekend in his vacation home? “You expect me to believe your intentions are proper?”

  Proper? Yeah, right. “I don’t care what you believe, Mr. Morgan, but my intentions are to treat Lucie the way she deserves to be treated. You might do the same.”

  Broom and dustpan in hand, Lucie returned and stopped. Just froze, scanning both their faces. She knew trouble when she saw it, and she pasted on a fake smile. “Everything okay?”

  The tension in the room was as thick as the frosting on the cake. John took the broom and dustpan from her and started sweeping. “Your pop was saying what an amazing party this was, weren’t you, Mr. Morgan?”

  The man harrumphed and opened his mouth to respond when his cell phone rang. Setting his jaw, he gave John the stink eye and turned on his heel, answering the phone with a terse, “Morgan.”

  As he left through the side door, Lucie gave John a worried glance. “What happened?”

  He made work of cleaning up the kitchen floor. “Just bonding with your ol’ man.”

  She was silent for a long minute. So long, he almost dropped the broom and resumed their make-out session. Anything to get her to stop worrying about gaining her father’s approval.

  John knew from experience that hanging out in your head only led to regret. Guilt. Embarrassment.

  Way to go, John. He may not have cared about family, but like Lawson and Zara, Lucie did.

  And now, here he was dropping to hands and knees to scoop up the last of the crumbs on the kitchen floor, wishing all the messes he made in life were as easy to clean up.